


Gay Chicken

by Squeakyshroom



Category: Maxmoefoe- fandom, Video Blogging RPF, idubbbz- fandom
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rutting, Semi-Public Sex, Slurs, it's in a club but u kno, that's kinda public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeakyshroom/pseuds/Squeakyshroom
Summary: Ian and Max are too competitive for their own good.Or: Why take an 'L' when you can have the 'D?'





	Gay Chicken

It starts like this: Ian and Max's waitress hasn't come back with their food. Max groans and so does his stomach. He wants to murder somebody. Maybe the waitress for going MIA. Maybe Ian for having a fully charged phone while his is at one fucking percent. Maybe himself for not charging his phone.

"I'm dying," Max bitches and kicks Ian's foot.

"I told you to charge your shit last night before you went to sleep," Ian says without looking up. He's in that one black shirt that makes him look like an Instagram model. Meanwhile, Max is the human version of ball sweat.

"Well, I fell asleep before I could! Come on. Talk to me. Have pity, Ian."

"I reward you no pity points. May god have mercy on your soul."

"Iannnnn," Max whines and shakes Ian's leg. He rests his hand there, waiting for Ian to react, but the other boy doesn't even flinch. Ian just leans back and ruffles his hair. If he did it just to annoy the fuck out of Max, it worked. His nostrils flare, and, yeah, Max can get pretty fucked up when he's hungry. Listen, he used to be a fat kid, ok? That shit stays with you.

"Stop ignoring me, cunt," Max says as he inches his hand up Ian's thigh, but the other boy just- just fucking blinks. Max's fingers are dangerously high up now. He looks around, but no one is paying attention. Ian certainly is pretending that he's not.

Max flushes as he watches Ian's impassive face, and he wonders how far he should take this "joke." Is it a joke? He's not really sure what they're joking about, but Max's fingers are also inches away from Ian's cock, so he can't be serious. Of course not. This is just another one of their elaborate games, and this one hinges on Max getting a rise out of Ian.

"Don't," Max runs his fingers up the inner seam of Ian's shorts. "Ignore me."

Ian's jaw clenches as Max's hand rests on his crotch. It's just the slightest hint of a reaction, but it's not enough. Max needs to see him come apart. He needs Ian to beg him to stop. He needs.... _something_.

He can see himself reflected in Ian's glasses, and, wow, he looks like a fucking maniac; Max's hair is sticking up in every direction and his eyes are wide. He averts his eyes down to Ian's lap, where his fingers limply rest, afraid to do anything. Max checks over their shoulder to make sure the waitress isn't approaching.

Max leans in, so his lips brush against the American's ear: "Ian."

As he whispers, Max closes his palm around him and kinda...kinda just caresses his bulge. It twitches in his grip, and Ian's thighs squeeze together. Max's face heats up, and he's relieved when Ian finally pushes him away with a-

"Fuck, didn't think you'd take it that far."

"Don't underestimate me."

"Clearly," Ian says with a lopsided grin, and Max is relieved that he's not mad. Anyone else would have stormed away, but Ian? Ian gets Max.

The waitress chooses that moment -thank god- to come over. She apologizes for the wait and gives them a steaming plate of fries on the house. Max is happy for the distraction because his head is spinning and his fingertips are tingling. Even though it's Ian that was groped, Max has to adjust himself. The air's thick with a tension that he can feel in the base of his spine, and Max is acutely aware of Ian's foot occasionally bumping against his. Have Ian's eyes always been that intense?

"I'm going to get you back for that," Ian promises as he grabs a fry. "Don't worry."

Max licks the salt from his fingertips: "You better."

The game has begun.

(Ian: 0. Max: 1.)

\-----------------

Ian gets his revenge that night.

Chad is sitting across from them at the kitchen table with his gaming headphones off. Max is re-watching one of Ian's old videos when he feels a hand on his thigh.

Max tries to remember how to breathe when Ian's fingertips dip down between his inner thigh. Ian's got a better angle than Max did, and Max is in his sweats, so it's no surprise that Max’s body is heating up so quickly. Eyes ahead. Breathe. Come on. Relax.

"What are you watching?" Ian asks. Max's stomach tightens at the combination of Ian's soft voice and clever hands. There's no way he can pretend this is some girl. Nah, this is Ian. These are Ian's hand.

Max bites his thumb: "One of your old, shitty unboxings. You really did improve the quality, you know?"

"Proud of me?" Ian asks as his fingers brush against Max's clothed cock. "How big I'm getting? I mean you're pretty big too."

"Not as big as you," Max says, fully aware they're not talking about subscribers. Ian gleefully snickers at the admission, and then his fingers brush over Max. His stomach twists, and the blood rushes downwards. Max can feel himself thickening as Ian toys with him. He betrays himself with a tiny hitch of his breath. Fuck, Ian was much better at this whole self control thing.

"What the fuck er you two talking about?" Chad snaps, and Max's heart skips a beat. It's fucked up that the thought of Chad figuring out their game only excites him. Max can't keep himself from hardening at the combination of disgust and arousal that twists through his gut.

"Dicks," Ian says with a straight face, and, fuck, he's good.

“Gay,” Chad snorts and crushes the can of beer he was drinking. He tosses it at Max and puts on both headphones.

Phew.

Ian rests his chin on Max's shoulder to watch him play another video. Max can't even pay attention, not with the way that Ian is oh-so-sweetly rubbing him through his sweats.

Eyes on the screen. Eyes on the screen. Oh no, he's looked down to see Ian's hand wrapped around his bulge. It looks so natural resting there like- like Ian owns him. The strange thought makes Max squeeze his thighs together again. 

"How far you willing to go?" Ian muses, and his breath comes out in hot puffs against Max's neck. He shivers. Another soft rub.

"Your videos date far back," Max says, voice even, silently inviting Ian to continue.

Ian hums softly in his ear as he moves to the edge of Max's waistband. He rests the palm of his hand right there, over the curve of Max's stomach. In response, Max clenches, trying to tighten whatever abdominal muscles he has.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Max says softly, only somewhat aware of what he's agreeing to as Ian's hands slip under his waistband. His naked skin is tingling under Ian's touch. Max squeezes his thighs together, and he can't remember what the point of this was. It's a game, right? The objective is blurry, but Max is certain that he doesn't want Ian to stop.

So he holds his breath as Ian wraps his big hand around the the length of his cock. Max's head spins at the contact. His stomach is tight like he's been punched. His throat is tighter, as he -barely!- keeps himself from moaning. It's the sudden, dripping wetness of precum that makes Max recoil.

Flushing, Max scoots away, and Ian immediately withdraws.

"Guess I win," Ian says with a shit-eating-grin, and Max hates how non-affected he looks from this.

Max swallows: "Guess you did."

“But the game isn’t over yet?”

 _Yes. Tell him it’s over_ , Max’s chastises himself.

“Not yet.”

(Ian: 1. Max: 1)

\---------------

He cums a little too quickly in the shower. It's best not to ask why. 

\----------------

The ball is in his court now. 

Max leads them to a dark booth in the back. On the dance floor, girls are whipping their hair and getting down to the beat. Max's phone is fully charged, but he hides it in his bag and shifts closer to Ian, until their thighs are touching.

He puts his hand on Ian's knee, signaling the start of their game, and he feels a sudden rush. Instead of continuing the usual upward crawl, Max cups Ian's face. This earns him a soft 'hmph' of surprise. Max smiles as he meets Ian's eyes. Ian blinks, but Max can see the ghost of a smile as he plays along. 

"You look like a fuck boy," Max says, and it’s kind of true. Ian's got his hair pushed back like he knows he's hot shit. Max licks his lips.

Ian doesn't reply, just tilts his head. A challenge.

Max inches forward, giving Ian the chance to pull back, but he knows that Ian isn't going to pussy out this soon.

"We're tied," Ian whispers against his lips, and the feeling makes Max shiver. Why is everything about Ian a jolt of electricity? Why can't Max stop his stupid body from reacting?

"Not for long, cunt. You're going to pull away first," Max jeers, and he sounds more confident than he feels.

"Oh?"

And the smug little noise pushes Max forward. He's kissed Ian before, but never sober. Somehow, it feels different under the dark, neon lights of a club, feels like it’s going somewhere. Max forgets himself when Ian cups his face, and his eyelashes flutter in pleasure. Kissing Ian makes Max feel nice and small, like he's being taken care of. See when you kiss a girl, you're always the one in charge. But Ian’s the dominant one now: cupping Max’s face, pulling him closer, kissing him harder. Max has the strangest urge to relax and submit to him.

Instead, he pulls back with a horrified gasp and pushes Ian’s hands off his face.

"That- that's against the rules."

"There are rules?" Ian asks, voice rising in pitch to be heard over the speakers.

"No- I mean yes there are rules. You're not supposed to be all handsy when it's my turn, right? Cause- cause I'm supposed to be the one in control, so you can’t be doing whatever it is that that was.

Ian leans back against the booth seat and puts his hands up in surrender: "Ok, ok. No hands. It's not like we talked about it, did we?"

"I guess not," Max grumbles, and he's feeling flushed and stupid. His mind keeps replaying the way that Ian effortlessly took control of the kiss. The way he held Max's face. Oh, god, why does it still make him feel all nice and small? Why does he have to urge to beg Ian for another kiss like that? Like he’s an overeager puppy?

"Come on, Max, we gotta break the tie."

 _Tell him it’s too much_ , the voice urges again.

"Nah, changed my mind. This is a shit game."

“Why?”

“It’s just shit, and I hate it.”

Ian is silent for a moment before goading him-

"What? Afraid you're going to lose?"

"I'd win, but I don't even give a shit. Why are we even playing?" Max says with a shrug as he goes to retrieve his phone, and he pretends to be busy scrolling through his twitter.

Ian's eyes are hot against his face. If Max turns to look at him, he won't be able to suppress the conflicted niggling in his chest. But what is he conflicted about? Max doesn't want to look closer, afraid of what he might found out.

"You won't play cause you’re afraid you’ll get turned on by me, isn't that right? Pretty lame," Ian continues, and, fuck, it's a little too close to the truth. He turns sharply to Ian and narrows his eyes. If the goal was to rile him up, it worked. Max is reverse psychology’s bitch right now.

“If I was to go hardcore...you couldn’t take it.”

Ian just tilts his head and taunts, “Such big game talk, Max, but how about we see you play."

Max wants to fucking strangle Ian. How is he always so fucking composed when Max feels like a mess? But he rides the wave of anger, and it turns into a surge of confidence. Eyes locked on Ian, Max swings his leg over the other boy’s lap, so he’s straddling Ian's thighs. They’re in public, but that’s never stopped them before. Besides it’s a club, they’re drowned out by the sea of grinding bodies.

“No hands. If you push me away, you lose. And this is the last game. The tie breaker. After this it’s over. Got it, cunt?”

“Got it,” Ian says, and he still has that insufferable smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. What does he know that Max doesn’t? What’s his fucking deal?

Whatever it is....Max can’t back out now.

“Prepare to lose, bitch,” Max says in combination with a strategic thrust of his hips. He’s never done this before, but he’s had girls do it to him. He knows how good it feels when he slides himself back, grinding his ass against Ian’s shorts. Max bites his lip in concentration as he rests his hands on Ian’s shoulders for better leverage. It’s not even sexy. This is just a technique. A means to an end. A way to win their little game.

But their mouths are inches away, and Max's stupid cock decides that this is a sexy thought. He blames Ian's eyes. They're enough to give any straight man a chub. And fuck- he does not want to be looking into Ian’s eyes while he’s rubbing his ass against his cock.

Max leans down to hide his head in Ian’s shoulder, and - _oh god_ \- maybe that was the wrong move. It makes him feel smaller, like before. One of Ian’s hands comes to rest against Max’s back. _That’s against the rules_ , a voice in his ear whispers. Max could use that as a reason to pull away and claim victory. Instead, he nuzzles his face further into the crook of Ian’s broad shoulders and grinds his hips down harder. It feels so good. The smell of Ian’s cologne. The weight of Ian’s hand. The warmth of Ian’s chest against his chest. The hardness of Ian’s cock against his soft ass.

“That’s it,” Ian hums, and Max has to bite his lip to stop himself from doing something stupid, like moaning.

Rihanna is cooing something sexy over the speakers. Max grinds to the sultry beat, and something twists inside of him as Ian’s fingertips sink down into his back. He’s not even thinking about winning. He’s doing nothing but rutting into his best friend’s lap. That’s it. No more, no less.

“Can't believe I got a free lapdance from such a pretty girl,” Ian snickers, and Max’s hips stutter at that word. The taunting gets under his skin, and it's burning him up. 

"You can- can pull away whenever," Max grumbles into Ian's shoulder, tightening his grip. If he was going for a command, it comes out closer to a whine. He's certain Ian won't pull away. They're too competitive. 

"Aw, hell nah. Keep going, Maxine."

So he does.

His body’s over-spilling with adrenaline that leaves him in the form of sweat and precum. The rush is better than sex. Max has never felt this when he’s fucked a girl. This high? It has everything to do with Ian. Ian’s hard chest. Hard grip. Hard...everything.

If it was a joke, Max has forgotten the punchline. All he knows is the sweet rhythm of his hips and the sweeter gasps that he drags out of Ian. He can feel it in the curl of his fingers where he clings to Ian. Feels it in the curl of his toes where they dangle. Feels it in the curl of his lip as he edges closer and closer.

Sweat drips down his chest. Precum drips down the tip of his cock. Max is dripping wet as he continues to grind.

Faster and deeper and harder.

“Ah, shit. Max, that’s it. Fuck,” Ian curses in his ear, and it seems he’s forgotten the rules or just doesn’t care. His hands curl around Max’s waist, and now he’s just using him like some kind of fuck toy. And Max decides he likes that. No, he loves that. He loves the way that Ian is treating him. In fact, he’d like it more if Ian would just- just-

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Max gasps, and he pushes himself off Ian at the exact moment he spills into his underwear. The orgasm hits him like the slick sheen of sweat that comes after one's fever breaks. Max can’t think. All he can do is sit there and squirm as semen drips down his thighs. He pulls his shirt down over his lap and looks down at Ian’s lap. Just as wet. God, what the fuck did they just do?

“I...I won,” Ian finally breaks the silence with a laugh.

Max hides his wet forehead back into Ian’s shoulder and closes his eyes: “Yeah, you fucking won. Now buy me a drink.”

“Nah, loser has to pay.”

 _Haven’t I already paid enough_ , Max thinks as struggles to pull out the wallet from his pocket, wiggling in his wet undies. He shoves crumpled bills into Ian’s hand and vaguely feels used. He drowns away that sick feeling in alcohol, until his underwear has dried, but, no matter how much he downs, Max can’t forget that high, can't even pretend. And....does he want to forget?

Ian’s handsy with him the whole night, tugging him closer, and Max is back on his lap in the cab ride. Every bump, Max remembers what they did, and he can’t help but wonder if they would they do it again. 

Max has not only lost the game but also his sanity.

(Ian- 2. Max- 1)

\------------

It finally occurs to him when he’s taking a piss that Ian cheated. It’s so obvious, and it makes him so fucking mad that he barely even zips up before bursting into the kitchen. He’s in that zone between buzzed and drunk where he feels oddly sober.

“You’re a fucking cheater!”

“Why’s that?”

“You- you fucking didn’t want me to stop, did'ja? You wanted that to happen!" 

Ian just looks up at him from the drink he's nursing and raises his eyebrow as if to say ‘um, yeah, duh.’ Max tries to punch him but trips over his own feet and ends up smacking against the stool. He slumps onto the floor and glares up at Ian.

“Shouldn’t have played that fucking game. It made- made everything weird.”

“Is everything weird? Feels normal to me.”

“That wasn’t normal.”

“Why? People get off all the time. Okay, maybe not in public, but-”

“It’s against the rules to want it,” Max snaps. “That’s like the basic rules of the game. If you want it, you’re not gonna pull away. So what’s the point of the game? This is why we shouldn’t have played. It made it weird.”

“No, it really didn't, not any weirder than it usually is."

"It diiiid," Max groans, stomach turning as he struggles to get up. 

"I think I know what your problem is, Max,” Ian says slowly like he’s chewing over a thought. Ian’s an intelligent guy, and Max trusts his analysis. He lifts himself up and leans against the counter, so their hands are pressed together. Ian’s cologne smells nice. Musky. 

“Wass that?”

“You want it all to be so fucking complicated when it’s really fucking simple. Painfully simple. You’re turning what’s essentially a training level into a fully fledged boss battle, understand?"

“Uh, no,” Max as he steals Ian’s drink and downs it.

“It’s really not that complicated; you want me to fuck you.”

Max spits out the drink.

“But you’re too afraid to admit that’s what you want, so here we are. Playing dumb ass games like we’re in high school. Humping each other like a bunch of clueless teenagers, who don’t know what sex is. When the truth is....we both know.”

It’s simple and honest, but it makes Max recoil.

He takes a step back and crosses his arms in front of his racing heart. Is that it? No, of course not; Max isn’t gay.

Is he?

There’s bile rising in his throat. There’s fear stinging the corners of his eyes. Every part of him is desperate to jump out of his skin and away from the revulsion that turns his stomach.

He won’t make it back to the bathroom, so he just leans over the sink and vomits. Ian rubs his back and Max lets him, but then he stumbles away to go to sleep in his own room.

“You okay?” Ian asks as he follows him, catching his hand.  

Max pushes him away, wipes his mouth and shakes his head: “I don’t know.”

Ian kneels down to unlace his shoes. Max watches him with flushed cheeks and a foul taste in his mouth. He pets Ian’s head. How is it that a boy so soft can hurt him so badly?

“You want me to stay?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know...or you don’t want to say you want me?”

Max doesn’t reply. He flops back onto the bed and covers his eyes with his hands. The door slams shut. Fuck.

If they’re no longer playing the game, why does Max feel like he’s lost something?

(Ian: 2. Max: -100)

\------------

It’s game over.

Ian’s leaving tomorrow, and they’re not playing anymore. No, Ian won, and Max lost. 

So why does his heart sped up at the sight of Ian? They make tense small talk over some Twitter beef that’s on both their feeds, but Max’s hazy, half-hungover head is still drifting towards last night's game. It had felt so nice. The puke finale? Not so nice. 

“What you wanna do now?” Max asks because they didn’t plan anything for today.

Ian’s eyes meet his: “Just...chill. Maybe get a head start on editing?”

And Max can hear the emphasis around ‘chill’ even as he averts his eyes. If they were still playing the game, he’d think it was a signal to start. But they’re not. It’s over, isn’t it?

So that’s how he finds himself spread out on the bed right next to Ian. The warm computer is on his lap, and his thigh is pressed next to Ian’s. The game has really fucked with him because just the scent of Ian has his cock stirring. Damn. His bare toes brush against Ian’s.

 _Pull away,_ Max screams at himself.

 _Or maybe push a little bit closer_ , a darker part of himself whispers.

Max does neither, frozen. Instead, it’s Ian who wiggles closer until their shoulders are pressed together. He can feel Ian’s breathe cooling his heated cheeks. He shifts, and the computer rubs pleasurably against his lap.

“You won the game,” Max finds himself verbalizing, but the words stick in his throat, so they come out a low rumble.

“Hm, but you said I cheated, didn't you? So I didn’t really win.”

“Yeah. So that means....” Max makes up as he purposefully rubs his foot against Ian’s. “We’re still tied.”

Oh, it’s complete bullshit, and they both know that. At this point the game has just dissolved into an excuse to touch each other. If Max looked at it more closely- but he can’t. It’s easier, anyways, to shove his computer away and crawl up under Ian’s arm without having to decide if there’s more to it. It’s easier to sink into the warmth of Ian’s touch and hide his face into the crook of his neck, eyelashes brushing against his skin.

“Is it still your turn or mine?” Ian mutters into his ear as Max throws a leg over him.

“Yours,” Max arbitrarily decides.

He likes to be on the receiving end anyways. Means he has to think less. Instead, he can sigh contently and let Ian be the dominant one, and maybe Max likes the idea of submitting more than he’ll admit. Loves that powerful feeling of being powerless.

They’re curled up next to each other. Face to face. Ian’s hand is tracing small circles on his back. Max has his forehead on Ian’s shoulder, and this might be his favorite position. His leg is still tucked between Ian’s, and it’s basically just hard-core cuddling.

“You can start.”

“I already did,” Ian says softly, lips catching against the sensitive skin of Max’s neck. “I’m going for the ‘slow and steady wins the race’ approach.”

Huh? Every other time they went straight for the kill, but maybe Ian is onto something. The gentle rub of Ian’s fingers up and down his back is working. Max holds his breathe at the intimate circles that his friend is tracing into his skin, and, fuck, it’s a little too close to foreplay. Max’s cock twitches at the sweet -almost painfully sweet- affection. This is nothing like the desperate club grinding.

Something is different, not quite right.

 _It’s quiet_ , Max realizes. All other times they played they were in public, but now they’re alone. Painfully alone. 

“We should....have a timer or something. So we know when to stop,” Max suggests because he can’t stand the silence.

Ian snickers: “We’ll know when to stop. Either you pull away or cum. Isn’t that how it works?”

“No, that’s not how it works,” Max whines because he knows Ian hates when people whine, and maybe he wants to annoy Ian a little. Push his buttons. The unexpected scrape of Ian’s nails against his back makes him gasp. Retaliation? 

Ian shifts them over, so now he’s on top. Max glares up at him, and he hates that it’s Ian, always fucking Ian. There’s no one else in the world who he’d play this ‘game’ with. The game whose rules always change depending on their mood. The game that started as a way to pass time and has now become Max’s favorite past time.

“You’re the one who made up this retarded game, you know that right?”

“Right,” Max says and he’s watching Ian’s mouth as he talks. There’s a leg pressed between his thighs, and he wishes that Ian would speed things up. Just...just fucking use him like he did in the club. 

“And you know I’ve just been going along with it for a while, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And why do you think that is?” Ian asks like he’s speaking to bratty, little five-year-old. Max rolls his eyes up because the whole point of this was not to think. Instead, Ian’s got him trapped with his warm body and pointed words.

“I don’t fucking know,” Max mumbles, and it’s last night all over again. It’s childish. It’s...Max. The ceiling’s got a stain in it that looks like a gravestone. Or a thumb. Depending on how you tilt your head, it changes.

Ian leans in and presses a kiss to his neck, and, oh wow, his lips are soft. Max shifts, just to let Ian know he felt it, but keeps his eyes up on the ceiling. If he squints his eyes, the stain kind of looks like a dick. Heh. Then those little, dry kisses are fluttering down the curve of his neck. Arousal lazily stirs in the pit of his stomach, and his cock twitches in his sweat pants as Ian’s knee rubs against it.

“You don’t know or don’t want to think about it?”

“Both? Neither? Don’t know.”

Ian’s sucking down, and, oh, fuck, that’s a new sensation. Max can’t bite back a gasp. These are his best friend’s lips against the base of his neck. These are his best friend’s hip pressed to his. If it’s against the rules to wrap his fingers in Ian’s short hair, Max is the cheater now.

Ian pulls away with a satisfying ‘pop,’ and he smirks at the hickey bruising Max’s skin. Max retaliates with a tug at Ian’s hair. The arousal is a slow simmer unlike the gut punch it was last night.

“Aw, poor baby. Doesn't know anything,” Ian mocks. “How about we look up a Youtube tutorial for you? ‘A Hundred Ways to Know If You’re Crushing On Your Bestie.’”

"Shuddup," Max groans as Ian presses his thumb down against the hickey. 

"You want me to suck your cock? Platonically, of course. It's a new game called 'sex.' Brand new. Nobody's ever done it before. I'm not sure about the rules, but you'd just change them when it was convenient for you, isn't that right?" 

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. _Cunt_." 

"Make me." 

The air is charged with the heat of Ian's stare. 

Wordlessly, Max leans up and presses his lips to Ian’s. It’s nothing like the kiss from last night. There are no club lights to hide them. Max’s mouth is eager now for the pleasure that he’s finally allowing himself to take. There is no game, not anymore. There’s nothing but the soft smack of their naked lips against one another along with the squeak of the bed. Ian’s left hand curls in his hair while his right hand painfully presses down against the hickey.

When Ian pulls back for air, Max can’t filter his thoughts any more: “Maybe I am a confused piece of shit, but that felt good, Ian. This all feels real fucking good. Like, good enough to say fuck it to everyone else, you know? And it’s not part of the game. We're not even playing that retarded game cause I'd would cheating if we were.”

“Cheating?”

“I said it’s cheating if you want it, and I- and I want it,” Max admits. “Ok? Happy? The game is over, but I also wanna continue doing this. There you go. I’m the cheater.”

“You’re still making it so complicated,”

“How?”

“Fill in the blank. The game is over, but this won’t stop because...”

“It feels good?”

“And...?”

“And we both like how good it feels?”

“And!”

“And- and-” Max squirms. “And I’d be down to do gay shit with you, any time. Is that the answer yer looking for?”

“Just me,” Ian says firmly. “Because you like me.”

“No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? My massive boner?” Max laughs and then Ian is laughing on top of him. For the first time, Max decides it’s alright not to know what this all means. Nothing’s gonna ruin their friendship. Not grinding at a club or making out. Nothing.

Max has zero impulse control, and he’s tired of playing bullshit games where he has to pretend he doesn’t want it. He wants it. Boy, does he want it.

He grabs Ian by the collar of his shirt and pulls him down for another kiss. They’re kissing with no pretense as they grind into another. With ever hitch up of Max’s hips, Ian meets him with a thrust down. Their bodies move in rhythm with each other, and, fuck, Max feels like he died and went to heaven. Ian’s heavy body against him, holding him down, is bliss. No, it’s hell because Max wants them out of these sweats.

“Less....less clothes.”

“Less talking,” Ian snaps and sharply tugs at his hair, and Max likes the sudden pain. He likes that Ian can kiss or bite any part of him.

He can’t breathe, not really. Ian is kissing all the life out of him. Plus the sweet rocking of their cocks together, even with the thick layers of fabric between them, is- is fuck. He gasps when he feels a hand grope his ass. _Moremoremoremore_.

“Come on,” Max whines as he tries to reach between them and pull both their sweats down. It’s hard with Ian’s body pressed down so tightly against him.

Max doesn’t mean to sound so desperate, but he is. He wants more skin and more heat. Max wants to feel it, feel all of Ian sliding and pressing and shivering against him. Ian snickers against his lips as he feels Max struggling. Dick. Finally, Ian takes pity on Max and reaches down to tug down his boxers. Max groans at the sight.

“Fuck, you’re longer than me! Shit, I always thought you were but... I mean I’m thicker, so it’s fine.”

“Are you really comparing dick sizes right now?” Ian snorts as he pulls down Max’s sweatpants and takes him in his grip. “Stop being such a baby.”

Max twitches in Ian’s tight grip at the ‘baby.’ He thinks he likes the pet names. Likes when Ian treats him like he’s little and precious. He opens his mouth to say so but nothing comes out but a strangled moan. Ian’s got both of their cocks in his grip, and he’s rubbing them together. Max buries his face back into his favorite spot- Ian’s shoulder.

“Oh, that’s- fuck, yeah,” Max moans as Ian strokes them together. The drag of their cocks, slick with precum, is too much. Max’s toes curl and he sinks his fingers into Ian’s back, holding him for support.

"Yeah?"

“Yeah, god, yeah, yeah,” Max chants like a prayer. Every syllable is an acknowledgement of the erotic sliding of their bare cocks.

Ian stills as he cums, and Max whole body clenches. Whatever stomach muscles he has tightens. Max shivers as Ian’s cool cum drips down his overheated skin. His face is still firmly tucked into Ian’s shoulder, and he mouths at his neck, past the ability to form coherent words.

“ _Shhh_ , come on. That’s it,” Ian says like he’s speaking to a scared puppy. “Come for me, baby.”

And it’s the ‘baby’ that has Max obeying Ian, spilling between their stomachs, until both of their cum is pooling between them. It’s sticky and messy and perfect. Ian groans and collapses on top of him. Max presses a grateful kiss to his neck.

They lie there for a moment until Max really can’t take any Ian’s weight or heat, so he pushes him off. Ian rolls off with a contented groan. Max peels off his wet shirt and sweatpants and Ian does the same. Ian licks his lips and nods towards the shower. Max smirks. Round two would be nice.

“So...is this game over?” Max asks as Ian pulls him off the bed.  

“That one’s over,” Ian says and pecks him on the lips. "But  _this_ game has just begun.”

(Score ?????? Who the fuck cares? Max feels like a fucking winner.)

\------

They don't even make it to the shower. It's hard (pun intended) when they're both all over each other. Max has just never touched a boy like this, never touched Ian like this. He slides his fingers up and down Ian's hard chest, trying to memorize the lean muscle there. His hand brushes over Ian's cock, and he pulls up like he was burned. Oh, it feels so foreign against him. 

Max feels like he's jumped into a wildfire. His face is heated, and his brain is fried, unable to comprehend how they'd gotten here or where to go next. Should he drop to his knees? Bend over? The specifies of this new game are lost to him. Max knows sex isn't all about positions, but he's clueless how to maneuver their bodies to make this work. He's spent his whole life having sex with woman after all. So how does he...? 

But Ian - _thank god_ \- still has his cool. He shoves Max into the counter, so the marble is digging into his bare ass. Then his hands are skimming at Max's hips and his lips at Max's ear. 

"I want to fuck you," Ian says, voice calm.

Max chokes on his own spit because- okay, yeah, he wants that too. He just would never be able to say it like that. So...so nonchalant. 

"You were serious about not complicating this, huh?" 

"That's your job. The complicater. I'm cutting the bullshit and saying it like it is. I, Ian, would like to bend you, Max, over and fuck you over this counter top. Hard. Maybe cum all over your red ass cheeks or face cheeks. I'm not particular."

Ian's hands dip down to rest just above Max's ass, fingers dipping down between the crack. They're pressed together chest to chest, so Max can feel Ian's cock stirring against his thigh as he speaks. The combination of Ian's hardening cock and lowering voice is too much. Max just came a couple minutes ago, but already his own cock is throbbing. 

"Fuck, I-" Max's voice is tight in his throat, and he licks his lips. "Yeah, that sounds good. You, uh, fucking me." 

"Good because I've wanted to fuck that tight, little ass of yours since we started playing," Ian says and presses a kiss to the bruising hickey. His cool hands are now both splayed over Max's cheeks, massaging him. He's new to this sensation, but it's nice. Even if it wasn't, he'd want Ian to do it to him. He wants to try everything with Ian at least once. 

"Do you know how to...? Cause I'm gonna be honest I have no fucking idea how to-"

"I've fucked girls in the ass before."

For some reason, the idea of Ian pressing girls into the counter, just like he's doing to Max, makes his cock jump. Before he can stop his mind, it gives him an image of Ian balls deep inside of a girl and then- then that girl's Max, moaning and writing under Ian. It makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Wow. Know how to make a girl feel special." 

"Aw, you wanted to be my first, Maxine? Wanted to be the first girl I ever fucked over a bathroom sink?" Ian mocks him in that sing-songy voice from before. Max's toes curl in humiliation, but if he's being honest, he likes it when Ian verbally degrades him. Plus Ian calling him a girl makes him throb a little harder. It's even worse than 'baby.' 

"Shuddup. We need lube, not your spit."

"I got some in my luggage. Wait a second...?"

Max is alone, and he has a moment to look at his face in the mirror. Lips red. Bruise purple. Eyes dilated black. Who is this? Max has never seen this person before, but, whoever he is, he looks like a little bitch. _What are you doing?_

Max gives his reflection the middle finger.  He's doing what he's always done: the fuck he wants to do.

Adults experiment with their sexuality, and Max is an adult. Kinda. Just one with a lot less impulse control and more self loathing. Oh, and a huge Pokemon collection. 

"Changed your mind?" Ian asks as he comes back with the lube, and he sounds like he wouldn't be surprised if Max ran away. Max wouldn't either. 

"Yeah," he says just to see Ian's face fall. "Think I wanna do it on the bed. Hate to stare at my reflection while you fuck me."

"Kinda kinky?" 

"Pass. Self-reflection is my anti-kink," Max snorts as he goes to the bed. He hovers there awkwardly and then looks up at Ian for instructions. It's a good thing he has his best friend here, guiding him every step of the way. Max would run away if he didn't have Ian's calm touch at the base of his spine or his gentle words telling him to "bend over, baby." 

Max grabs a pillow to rest his face on. He wishes he could hide his flushed cheeks back in his favorite spot. Instead, he's forced to close his eyes and rest his face in the crook of his elbow. Ian's hand is on his ass, massaging it, and, god, this position is humiliating. It reminds him just how painfully naked he is. True, the room is growing dark, but there's just enough light for Ian to see every part of him. His toes curl under him and he impatiently wiggles his hips under Ian. 

"Come on," Max demands, voice barely a squeak. If he's gonna get fucked, he wants it nice and hard. All this touchy-feely, kissy shit is getting too close to 'making love,' and he's not ready for that. 

"Did you ever hear patience is a virtue?"

"Did you ever hear yourself when you speak? Cause you sound like an- an ass! Oh, fuck." 

Ian's finger is bigger than he expected. Nope, that feels... _nope_. Max squirms around it, trying to relax, but pain shoots through him, causing his back to arch. Even with all that cold lube, helping to stretch him open, it stings. 

"Agh! Motherfucking hell! When- when is this supposed to feel good?" 

"When you relax," Ian says sweetly -almost condescendingly sweet- down to him. "Can you do that for me?" 

If Max is gonna swallow back his masculinity and let his friend finger him, he wants it to at least be pleasurable. Tears stings his eyes as he bites his lips. He's growing soft. Ugh, the only thing arousing about this is the thought of Ian's fingers being inside him, not the- 

" _Ah_!" 

Max's cock jumps as Ian's finger rubs up against what must be his prostate. Yeah, okay, fuck. More of that please. 

"See?"

"S'good," Max admits into the crook of his arm. "Do it again." 

And Ian does and then again, and, yeah, Max can see how gay dudes are really into this. The tears of pain have turned into pleasure. His toes curl under him, and Max wants more of this. His cock, which had gone soft, is hardening again as Ian slips in another finger. With two, Ian finds the spots more quickly, presses down harder against it. They do that for a couple minutes until Max is bored with preparing. 

"You gonna fuck me or we gonna use up all your lube for this fingering shit?" 

"Eager, aren't we?" Ian says dryly as he pulls his fingers out and presses his big cockhead against Max's dripping wet ass. He circles it around the entrance, teasing him, and Max can't stifle back a moan. His hips eagerly press back. He can _feel_ the smugness in Ian's touch when strokes Max's ass like he owns it and then he adds "so desperate for my cock, Maxine?" 

"Don't be a dick- agh!" Max can't even finish his thought as Ian pushes just the tip inside. He clenches around the foreign object, and Max is dizzy with arousal. Ian's still stroking his ass as he presses inside, inch by maddening inch. 

"What was that?" Ian mocks, aware that he's the reason Max can't finish. It's so nice and thick inside of him. Nicer than fingers. 

"I- god. Ian, I can't-" Max lamely explains, tripping over his words. The air has been knocked out of his lungs. All he knows is Ian's big cock all the way inside of him, stretching him open. Max is impossibly full with every inch of Ian's cock shoved inside him.

"That's it. So tight, baby. How's that?" Ian moans above him as he experimentally rocks his hips. Max is glad his face is hidden because he must look like a fucking idiot, eyes glazed and lips in a big 'O.' He must look like some two-bit twink. Max hopes that Ian can't tell how much this is affecting him, but Ian is Ian, so of course he notices. He sensually runs a hand down Max's back and pulls at his hair, forcing Max to pull his head up. 

"I said- How was that?"

"You're n-not doing anything," Max goads and earns himself a sharp tug at his hair that makes his cock throb. He clenches down around Ian in retaliation. Figures that they're still competitive even in bed. 

"I was letting you adjust, but if you want it so badly, Maxine, take it," Ian growls and then he's pumping his hips, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. Zero to one hundred. Max squirms and grips the pillow under him. It's hard to be angry when you're being fucked within an inch of your life. He's pre-verbal in ecstasy as Ian's cock fills him up over and over again. 

Ian groans. One hand is wrapped up in Max's hair and the other is squeezing his ass. He loves the way Ian's holding him so tight. Fucking him so hard. There's no way to escape. Max is forced to take it. 

He's biting his lip, trying not to let moans slip out, but Ian's got him leaking. He's got the needy noises dripping from his soft lips. He's fucking all the pride and pretense out of him until he's a mewling needy mess. Ian hasn't even touched him and already precum is dripping down onto the bedsheets.

"That's it. That's all you wanted, wasn't it, baby? Why you- why you played that whole game. You just needed me to bend you over and fuck you."

All it takes is one more shove of Ian's hips and Max is cumming untouched. He cums just from Ian's cock inside of him. He cums just from that hand gripping his ass. That hand pulling his hair.

As Max cums all over his sheets, Ian softly presses a kiss to his back: "Shhh, there you go, baby."

Ian pulls out of him and then he's splattering all over his back with a quiet 'Max.' It should be humiliating to have his ass fucked and then cum all over, but Max kind of likes it. Makes him feel...owned? He's not sure what to call it. All Max knows is that he'd let Ian inside of him any time, any where. 

"Rematch when I wake up to see who gives the better blowjob?" Max yawns even though he knows they still gotta shower. He's covered in cum. 

"Careful. You know I'm competitive."

"Good." 

It's game on. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, my first fic where Maxian goes all the way. Tell me what'chu think! Leave comments and kudos for your local, struggling writer. Or message me at my Tumblr (Qweenkimchi)
> 
> Papa bless <3


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